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Poppyflight licked a paw, drawing it over her whiskers. Her green eyes narrowed blissfully as a shaft of warm sunlight dappled her russet, black, and white pelt. She paused to give her ears a good wash, then rose on lithe legs. It appeared that she wasn't immediately needed for anything, so she padded away and settled down more comfortably just outside the apprentices' den. Birdsong threaded through the air, yet one could only hear it if they listened for it.

Pines surrounded Brokenfeather in a hideous maze of reddish-coppery bark and the strong scent of the pungent green needles. Most Shadowclan members weren't annoyed by the trees -- some even enjoyed their presence. Brokenfeather, however, did not. Their presence seemed useless. Each tree looked exactly the same. There was no diversity whatsoever between the maps of branches. To a point, each Shadowclan member was required to possess a great sense of direction before they could navigate through the woodland. Each of them needed to have a mental map of the territory -- there was a specific place where the prey was and a specific place where the borders where and specific place where the camp was. It all seemed pointless to Brokenfeather. All of it. Every other territory had a simple land scaped with nothing but simplicity.

He suddenly tripped over something. The small frame of a figure. It was a dead bird. Brokenfeather smirked. Fowl were usually characterized by the size of their bone or the height they could fly. Because small-boned, fat birds were always better in the long run (which, in the case, is feline consumption). In a way, Brokenfeather felt bad for the creatures. They were practically born to die -- not that warrior cats weren't. But Brokenfeather didn't feel bad for anyone. His sympathy was lost when his parents abandoned him. His father himself had dropped him into Shadowclan. The clan only accepted him because he had the build of a decent warrior. But other than that small detail, Brokenfeather knew nothing of his origin. He didn't know his mother's name or his father's name. He didn't know what clan they were from. However, Brokenfeather had multiple times been told that he looked like a Windclan cat. His legs were thin and his build had gotten slimmer as he grew older. Brokenfeather was all-in-all swift. He could run, quickly. More quickly than most members in the clan.

But even if Brokenfeather's family tree was mixed, he never got any grief for it. After lots of training, he'd been able to become deputy. And now he was proudly standing in that position. Many times his colleagues had asked him if he'd ever desired to become clan leader. The answer to that question was... yes. Many of the current leader's decisions inflicted on Brokenfeather's beliefs. He'd even, perhaps, planned a few ways to end the clan leader's final few lives. He'd spied his adversary sneaking into the woodland multiple times ofter sundown for a stroll in the darkness. He went down a path that not many patrols deemed necessary to guard. And he walked quietly. So when the leader was far enough away from everything -- the clan and the patrols -- Brokenfeather could bite his neck until the last of his lives leaked out. It was grim and inhumane, but who was to say Brokenfeather would actually bring this plan into action? Besides, he could communicate decent messages as a deputy.

He emerged from the entanglement of trees into the clan's main territory. There were several cats gathered around doing petty cat things. Brokenfeather marched through clearing and to the center. He sat down, then. Perhaps it would be easier that way -- taking his time with the day instead of dashing through everything. Later he'd go off and catch some food to munch on. After that, he'd sleep. How exciting. But who was he kidding? Each day in the camp was always the same. Same cats, same activities. Same lovers, same haters. Same kits, same warriors. Only occasionally would a warrior be named, but Shadowclan had a lack of kits. "Oh, my," Brokenfeather muttered to himself. It was an exceptionally boring lifestyle he was leading, wasn't it? He had to make some action. Talk to some cats. Do something. Get a girlfriend, become a superstar. He just wanted to get off his pelt and achieve something new, for a change.

Poppyflight lifted her gaze, eyes narrowed to twin green slits, glittering in the fading light of evening. Cats were scattered around the clearing, yet none were interesting to watch or perhaps start a conversation with. They were all doing things like washing, eating, scratching a flea... mediocre stuff.The she-cat's gaze flicked to a lithe black-and-white tom by the edge of the camp. She crouched, tucking her forepaws beneath her ruffled chest fur and aligning them neatly. Her tail-tip dropped and brushed the ground, only the tip twitching occasionally.Yet Poppyflight got bored and restless easily, and this situation was no different than anything else. She rose, circling the camp restlessly before padding out of the entrance tunnel to hunt.Poppyflight was surrounded by dappled shadows and the sharp scent of pines. She began her best hunting stalk, drawing her body out low to the ground, tail flattened but not pressed to the ground, whiskers pulled back. The she-cat parted her jaws to taste the air, and found a fresh shrew-scent nearby.Perhaps I'll have a special meal all to myself. Poppyflight began trackin gthe scent, nose twitching as the smell grew stronger. Her paws itched with the anticipation of pouncing on a plump shrew.

Pulvis et umbra sumus. We are dust and shadows. Brokenfeather's father had hammered the phrase into his mind every day for many years. Many years until he was abandoned. And perhaps it was true. Once it had become the catchphrase of his family, the sentence's meaning began to fade. But now, it seemed to shine brighter than ever. Pulvis et umbra sumus. Maybe that's all he was. Dust and shadows. Memories and ashes. Bliss and failure. However, the other clan cats didn't seem to accept their fate. They gave more than one-hundred-ten percent -- one-twenty percent. Brokenfeather remembered there was a Latin phrase for that, too. Maybe his parents really were lunatics. Anyway, it was memento mori. Remember you will die. And these cats certainly didn't. That, or it wasn't on their priority list. Odd; all living was to Brokenfeather was the dismissal of hunger, thirst, and suffering. But these cats seemed to have a different outlook on the prospect of survival. Something about friendship. And in some accordance of things, friendship meant that they didn't have to remember death, even though it was the most imminent aspect of life. It was actually rather ironic, the idea of it all. The meaning of life was exactly its opposite.

Brokenfeather wasn't the one to claim that, though. All he was, frankly, was the grumpy, asocial deputy who amused himself with dull wisecracks and the failure of others. Cruel of him, Brokenfeather realized, to laugh at others faults when he had a list of his own. Oh well. Brokenfeather would live his dusty-and-shadowy life while remembering that he would die. And he'd live his worthless life to the fullest, if that meant driving others to their utter doom. Brokenfeather found a lot of things funny, but he found it especially hysterical how superior he sounded inside his head. Most older males like him desired leadership and a large clan to raise. But he didn't care much for either. He preferred silence and isolation. That's precisely why he didn't often start conversations on his own. Even despite what his conscience constantly whispered to him each hour of each day, he ignored the other cats. And even though he didn't want to talk to any of the peaceful warriors, he knew he needed to. But Brokenfeather didn't even want to breath the same air as these characters. And so began a huge self-conflict. Trust or not? Follow or linger? Chat or suffer? He quickly raised his head and examined the clearing for anyone worth talking to. Almost immediately he spotted an interesting companion. Poppyflight. She was an acutely muscular she-cat with a taste for hunting. How amusing, he thought. But alas, the cat only spared Brokenfeather a narrow emerald glare. Their eyes were the same peridot hue; it was quite cute. Brokenfeather didn't like cutesy things. Poppyflight turned and exited the camp, paying no more mind to the speckled tom. He rolled his eyes and followed her silently.

The bittersweet forest air filled Brokenfeather's nostrils as soon as he exited the camp. Poppyflight was several tail lengths ahead of him. If he wanted to remain invisible, he'd have to retreat to the trees. Surrounding the paw-worn hunting passageway were giant pines and very small, fortunate bundles of underbrush. Most of the underbrush was in ThunderClan and RiverClan. All ShadowClan was made up of was marsh and pines. It all got old after a couple of years. Brokenfeather leaped soundlessly into the thin pine bark and lurched upwards. The branches between trees were not close at all. Perhaps he wouldn't leap through treetops. No matter; below him Poppyflight crouched down. Her tails swayed subconsciously in the dust as her eyes trained into some object of prey enclosed in a pile of pine straw. Brokenfeather smiled deviously. Maybe he'd 'accidentally' scare her prey away. He flexed his shoulders and unsheathed his claws. The forest experience was better with his claws out. Brokenfeather hated the camp area because of their silly laws.

"Hey, Poppyflight,"He called absently. She didn't look up at first; just kept staring at whatever she was doing. Perfect."How's the weather down there? I'd bet a few kills that its cold. Its hotter up here for some reason... can't remember why. I'm closer to the sun... right?"Brokenfeather chuckled. It was now his turn for eye-narrowing. He had the argumentative advantage. A checkpoint that was most certainly for its struggle. Hopefully. If one executed their argumentative techniques skillfully enough, they could potentially win... the feeling of victory. Which, frankly, was quite pleasant."On the other hand, have you heard the Twoleg rumor? Yeah -- believe it or not, several Twolegs were seen roaming 'round here. And they can't climb. So if you get taken to their little shacks, it's not my fault,"Then laughed tauntingly."Now, why am I tormenting you? Simple. Want to do something? Like... walk around... or something?"

After a moment of a tomcat's speech, Poppyflight slowly turned. By now, she was sure that Brokenfeather had scared her prey out into the forest somewhere, never to be seen again. The she-cat flexed her claws in the soil. No matter. I'll find it later sometime... sometime.After the tom's little speech, Poppyflight flicked her ears with perhaps annoyance, or wonder? She hadn't heard this so-called 'Twoleg rumor'.The she-cat's tail-tip began ever so slightly twitching to and fro as she lined her paws beneath her. "No, I didn't hear that. Thank you for telling me." As Brokenfeather's gaze narrowed, Poppyflight did her best to copy his expression until she could gather up the last scraps of her dignity. Stupid tomcat had caught her off guard, intent on catching prey and completely unaware of the cat behind her until he began speaking in smooth tones.Poppyflight gave her paw a lick and rubbed her ear to banish an itch. She nearly stopped dead when Brokenfeather suggested 'like, walk around or something?'. For a moment, jumbled sounds and phrases swam in Poppyflight's mind, none of them cohesive messages. At last, she managed to collect her thoughts into increments that actually had meaning when spoken aloud."Sure," she replied, giving her chest fur a few licks to hide what she felt. "Why not?"

Darkheart padded softly through the forest, not making a sound. Her tiny body wound through spaces that looked too small for even a frog. She twitched her ears as the sound of voices reached them. Interesting, she thought, and changed her silent course to head that direction. Soon, she was picking up Shadowclan scents, and identified them as Brokenfeather and Poppyflight. Odd, Brokenfeather rarely engaged in social interactions and when he did, it was in a cruel and irritating way, looking for ways to cut his clanmates down. She slunk quietly around, stalking her prey, until she was directly behind the tom and then stepped silently into plain view, sitting down where he could not see her, but Poppyflight could. She gave a nod to the she-cat, a friendly gesture, but didn't break her silence. The tiny she-cat rarely spoke; her mother had taken it as a sign of her evilness and named her Darkkit, but the runt of the litter had simply preferred to remain quiet, anonymous, and observe.

Soon, a new scent drifted to Poppyflight's nose; it took her a moment to identify. Darkheart. The lithe she-cat gave her a genial nod, and Poppyflight nodded back. Though Darkheart rarely spoke, Poppyflight appreciated her silence, and despite her name, knew that the she-cat was not evil or bloodthirsty.

Last edited by Ivyshade-Admin on Wed Jul 24, 2013 11:04 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Wording fail ;n;)

Darkheart slipped forward to stand next to Brokenfeather. "I would suggest 'go for a walk together' instead of 'walk around or something'," She whispered to the tom, her voice soft and melodious, "For future reference." She added, her twitching whiskers the only sign of her amusement. She ran the tip of her tail down his spine, a bit of a stretch, since her was so big and she so small, but thats just life in such a small body. She walked forward, stopping beside Poppyflight as she passed. "I'll be hunting, just in case you need someone to scare him off like he did your prey," She whispered to the she-cat, glancing over her shoulder at the tom. Even though he was deputy, she didnt trust him, not one bit. She had see him sneaking out after their leader more than once, and each time she expected him to come back to camp with blood on his paws. With another friendly nod to Poppyflight, she slipped away, off to find whatever prey was left in the forest after Brokenfeather's little performance.

Darkheart murmured a bit of advice to Brokenfeather, then turned to Poppyflight. "I'll be hunting, just in case you need someone to scare him off like he did your prey," the she-cat whispered.Poppyflight gave a small mrrrow of amusement. "Thanks, but I don't think I'll need him to be scared off," she joked, touching Darkheart's flank briefly with her tail-tip. Darkheart gave her another nod before turning and winding her way through the undergrowth.As surprising as it was, Poppyflight actually enjoyed Brokenfeather's company. She had always thought him to be a rather shady character before, but then she had hardly ever spoken to him.

Darkheart purred in amusement. Those two made quite a pair, in her opinion. She shook out her fur, still intending to hunt. She was starving and the elders had raided the fresh-kill. Trotting a little farther away from where Brokenfeather had called out so loudly, she began searching for some kind of prey scent. She picked up a whiff of bird, which was a little odd, birds usually stayed in Thunderclan territory, but followed it anyway. It turned out to be a sparrow, pecking away at the ground in search of something to eat. She dropped into a crouched, stalking closer. She leapt, missing slightly. The bird took off from the ground, but Darkheart batted it down and made the killing blow before it could let out an alarm call. Silently, she thanked Starclan for the meal and bit into the bird.

Poppyflight twisted around, watching Darkheart as she pounced. Her first leap brought her slightly to the bird's side. Alerted and alarmed, the sparrow took flight, but Darkheart managed to catch it and bring it to the ground before it got too high. She killed it swiftly and crouched down to eat.Poppyflight tilted her head in admiration. Wow. That was some leap. She had pretty much always known that Darkheart had been a good hunter, but once a bird had taken off, it was hard to bat it from the air again.

Darkheart growled, frustrated she had let the bird get off the ground. Finishing the meal, she stood, feeling ultimately unhappy with the kill. Now Im going to end up hunting more just to feel satisfied, she thought, rolling her eyes. She trudged off, searching for another scent to follow. But of course, after searching half their territory, it seemed every piece of prey was hiding. Finally just giving up, she made her way back to camp as it began to get dark.

Poppyflight glanced at the sky. The sun was beginning to sink below the treetops, staining the sky a pretty red-orange. She brushed her tail down Brokenfeather's flank. "I'll be sure to find you tomorrow," she murmured. "So we can 'go walk around somewhere' like you mentioned." The she-cat paused to touch her nose delicately to his ear, then turned and pushed through a bank of ferns.

She spotted Darkheart's tail whisking into the ferns ahead of her. Poppyflight followed, heading straight for the fresh-kill pile and grabbing a frog. She wrinkled her nose; the skin was slimy and cool, but it'd have to do. For some reason, she didn't quite share her Clanmates' taste for frogs and lizards.

Lionpelt watched as Darkheart padded into camp, Poppyflight close behind looking famished. The calico she-cat grabbed a frog off the fresh-kill pile, a look of disgust on her face, but took it anyway. Lionpelt shook her head, making her long golden fur sway. Poppyflight was odd, in her opinion, but also fun to be around. Lionpelt thought fast. She wanted her clanmate to eat something she actually liked. The golden warrior rose on muscular legs, totted over to the fresh-kill pile, and grabbed a sparrow. "Hey Poppyflight," she called. Her dignified voice sounded loud in the quiet camp. "You wanna trade?," she asked, nodding toward the frog daggling in the she-cat's mouth.

Poppyflight turned around in surprise. "Oh, sure. That'd be great." She ducked her head, slightly embarrassed. "You know. Frogs... aren't really my favorite." She laid her frog at Lionpelt's feet. "Thanks. That's nice of you."Then she had another thought. "Are you sure you want to? I mean... it's a frog."

Lionpelt looked at the calico warrior with understanding eyes. She knew that Poppyflight was a little different from the other Shadowclan cats. "It's fine," she said, shaking out her golden fur. Lionpelt quickly glanced around to make sure no one was glaring at her for "trying to please everyone". She tried to tell herself that she just wanted her clanmate to be comfortable, but the thought kept creeping back into her mind. Who cares what they think, she thought. Picking up her frog, Lionpelt padded into a corner of the camp, pushing her worries to the back of her mind.

Poppyflight gratefully dug into the sparrow, finishing it with quick, neat bites. With her belly comfortably full, she rose and stretched. The sun was dipping beneath the horizon and Silverpelt was appearing in the sky.

Suddenly, tiredness overwhelmed Poppyflight, and her paws felt like she was dragging stones around. She crept to the warriors' den and found her nest, which she liked to keep meticulously clean and in order. She circled and plopped down in a tight ball of fur, wrapping her tail over her nose.

Driftfoot hung around at the edge of camp. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be looking at her paws. This was her way of relaxation. The she-cat's fluffy tail was swishing back in forth. She opened her eyes, reveling the beautiful olive. Getting up and stretching, she looked towards the entrance. 'Great time for a walk....' She told herself, and without further notice, Driftfoot padded out of the entrance. Entering the coniferous area, Driftfoot took a look around. She enjoyed the land ShadowClan had to give. She saw a sun-warmed rock, and leapt onto it, laying down, paw's tucked under her chest. Once more closing her eyes, the tabby enjoyed the warmth of the rock. "If only I could lay here forever..." She murmured, wrapping her tail up.

Darkheart watched her Clanmates go off to bed, or out for midnight walks in the woods, usually in pair with their tails entwined. She waited until the camp had quieted down to pick her spot for night watch, sitting with her ears pricked. She cast her watchful eyes all around her every few moments. She was often put on night watch, partly because her black pelt blended into the darkness nicely and she was small enough to sneak into the warriors den without waking any cat up, but mostly because she had a reputation for being the most observant cat in the clan.

After finishing her frog, Lionpelt had tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes they flew open almost instinctively. Sighing, the golden she-cat pushed herself to her paws, careful not to wake the others sleeping warriors.

Silver moonlight bathed the camp making it glitter. Stepping out of the den, Lionpelt's fur shined like the moonstone. In the night, instead of looking strong and leader like, she looked beautiful and elegant. She started toward the entrance, stepping lightly, but then remembered that she should probably tell whoever was on guard. She turned to see Darkheart sitting very still in the middle of the camp. "Hey, Darkheart," she whispered, "I'm going for a walk alright?"

Darkheart watched silently as Lionpelt slipped out of the warriors den. She could tell that the forest was calling the golden she-cat tonight. It was all too often she felt that tug herself. She watched as the she-cat paused and turned, her eyes finally falling on the tiny black cat standing guard. "Of course." She said softly, her seldom-used voice sounded right at home among the sounds of the night; the crickets and the frogs, and the just barely audible sound of starlight. "Be careful, never know what haunts the night in Shadowclan territory," She added, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes as she said it.

Dipping her head, Lionpelt headed out of the Shadowclan camp. Once out in the forest she padded past Driftfoot who was sleeping on a large rock. Careful not to wake her, the golden warrior trotted along deeper into Shadowclan territory. Cold wind tugged at fur, making her shiver. Leaf-bare is coming, she thought. Moonlight bathed the forest floor making it look like water, and it almost appeared to ripple as she padded across it. Suddenly, a sound in the bushes made her jump and an unfamiliar scent reached her mouth. It wasn't another clan, but it was definitely a cat and it was ready to fight.

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Poppyflight stirred in her nest. She squinted at the den entrance, awash with silver moonlight. It wasn't yet dawn yet - that would still take a number of hours. But she felt restless. Suddenly impatient with being cooped up inside the den, she slithered gracefully outside - well, she thought she was being rather graceful until her paws came down on something that was decidedly a cat tail and something beneath her hissed, "Watch it!"

She took extra care after that.

But finally she was in the camp, with the breeze caressing her fur and the tiny sounds of night surrounding her. The sparrow that she had eaten earlier had left her full, so she crouched and focused on the sounds of crickets chirping and grass rustling.

Lionpelt couched in a attack position as she stared into the brush. For a moment, the moonlight caught the stranger's eyes, but they immediately drew back into the undergrowth. Frustrated that she couldn't see the strange cat anywhere, she yowled, "Show yourself you coward!" There was a long, heavy silence and time seemed to sit still. For a moment, Lionpelt wondered if the cat had run away. But then a large gray tom strolled casually out of the ferns. "You must be a clan cat," he said knowingly.